Spirits of Another Sort
by Tidia
Summary: Synopsis: Peaceful visitors to Atlantis aren’t welcomed by everyone in the city.Spoilers: Home, Letters From Pegasus more like blinkandyou’llmiss‘em referencesSeason: One
1. Chapter 1

Spirits of Another Sort

Authors: Tidia & Mog m. Peaceful visitors to Atlantis aren't welcomed by everyone in the city.

Spoilers: Home, Letters From Pegasus (more like blink-and-you'll-miss-'em references)

Season: One

Authors' Notes:

Mog: Thanks to Ti--I've wanted to come play in the SGA but hadn't managed to find a way. And big thanks to Meg and Derry for beta'ing and improving.

Tidia: Ditto, but Mog most of the thanks go to you for always fluffing my paltry attempts.

---

1

Oh-four-hundred hours. Dr. Elizabeth Weir hated military time. It was so clinical that her analytical brain used it effortlessly, but she believed there was more elegance to standard time. Either way, they led to the same conclusion—the watch on the nightstand was showing that it was far too early in the morning.

With a groan, she turned away from the mocking timepiece. She didn't want a reminder of military life. The loosely tucked sheets moved with her and she wondered if the military personnel in Atlantis maintained boot camp-tight bed sheets.

She loathed this time of the morning. The one thought that always managed to push its way to the forefront of her mind was that it was always darkest before the dawn. She knew she wouldn't be able to fall back asleep now. Her brain was already filling with things to do.

A meteor shower two nights earlier had knocked the electronics in Atlantis for a loop. Over the last 24 hours things came back on-line in a random fashion, with the inhabited areas responding first. However, Elizabeth felt a caretaker-like responsibility to keep the city of the Ancients' operational, to keep abreast of the teams of engineering personnel still following up with careful sweeps of the structure.

Elizabeth tossed the bed sheets aside and rolled herself into a sitting position. Running fingers through her hair, she matted down unruly, dark brown curls. She pulled a well-worn 'Race for the Cure' sweatshirt on in a minor effort to cover her pajamas – sweatpants and an oversized gray t-shirt. Now that she was awake, the question was what to do with herself. She easily picked a destination—the sea air usually helped relax her busy mind.

She threaded her way through the sterile halls of the city, moving on a sleepy form of autopilot. She merely waved to the personnel on duty without offering any explanation as to her presence.

'_Don't feel up to explaining nocturnal wanderings. Or care to have it be a topic at breakfast tomorrow…strike that, today.'_

Force of habit steered her to her office. 'Just a quick check to see if anything important is waiting.'

The Atlantian lights reacted to her presence and flickered to life. Unfortunately for Elizabeth, that was not the only thing buzzing with life in her office.

"Hi-ya, Trixie."

Weir gasped and blinked rapidly, forcing sleep from her eyes and lassitude from her brain. The voice was one she hadn't heard in over a decade.

Dressed in a tailored, cream-colored linen suit and sitting casually with crossed legs on Weir's desk was her Great Aunt Mattie. It was unusual enough to see her father's aunt in Atlantis. It was even more unusual considering she'd been dead for twelve years.

Elizabeth retreated from the room with a quick backstep. The lighting responded and her office went dark. Standing just outside the threshold, she bit her lip in pensive thought. Was the stress of leading Atlantis affecting her? She turned away from the room and headed for the outside balcony. Evidently, she needed that air sooner rather than later.

The smell of sticky salt air rushed past her as she walked out onto the outer deck. She captured loose strands of brunette hair that spun around her face and gently swept them behind her ears. A single figure stood at the railing, gazing up at the pinpoints of light that formed the Pegasus galaxy.

Elizabeth opened her mouth to announce her arrival but Major John Sheppard spun suddenly, his soldier's sense perceiving the presence behind him. Recovering quickly, he apologized for startling his colleague.

"Sorry." He studied Elizabeth's expression closer. "You all right? You've kinda got that 'seen a ghost' look."

She offered a slight smile. "I'm a Ph.D.; we're not supposed to believe in ghosts."

"Ah," countered Sheppard, "but as a Doctor of _Philosophy_, shouldn't the real question be – do ghosts believe in you?"

He took a half-step to the side, opening up space for her at the railing. Elizabeth accepted the silent invitation as the soldier turned back towards the expansive body of water surrounding them.

"If I see one, I'll be sure to ask," she said.

"Which brings us back to where we started – what's a nice girl like you doing out on a night like this?"

Elizabeth deflected the question smoothly. "I might ask you the same thing."

"You might," replied Sheppard, "but I'm not a nice girl." He shot her a sidelong glance. "Maybe we're both seeing ghosts." His expression was a shade too serious for Elizabeth.

Before she could comment, he nodded up at the dark sky and spoke again. "Not as pretty as the other night, but it'll do."

Elizabeth offered a half-smile. "Kind of a shame that I had to travel to another galaxy before I was able to see my first meteor shower."

"I'm thinking meteor _drizzle_ is more accurate."

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow at the man beside her and he continued.

"Well, there weren't that many, a hundred or so, tops. I saw a shower about five years ago in Aspen, but it didn't look like this show. The ones the other night seemed to…I don't know, move deliberately. Like they were going someplace."

He stopped himself, as if he was wondering how crazy he must sound. "So…what brings you out here?"

Elizabeth didn't know how to answer. _'Too much on my mind and, oh yes, I just saw my dead great-aunt._' She chose a neutral reply instead.

"Weird dreams. You?"

The major's head didn't move but his glance shifted sharply toward Elizabeth and she recognized the slight purse of the lips that indicated John Sheppard was seriously contemplating something.

"Yeah…something like that."

A monologue of muttering drew close, interrupting them. "Oh, this is healthy. Lack of sleep, then hallucinations, which causes more lack of sleep and feeds more hallucinations - culminating in nothing short of deep psychosis…Why the dog?"

Dr. Rodney McKay's tone shifted the instant he saw his friends and he let slip a startled cry.

The three stared mutely at each other for a few seconds. Rodney's expression echoed his surprised vocalization. His short hair was disheveled, and one end of the belt from his robe trailed along the ground, allowing the robe to fall open, revealing his t-shirt – "Property of Vulcan University"

Sheppard greeted the scientist. "McKay." The voice inflection raised the second syllable, clearly asking a silent question in reaction to Rodney's odd entrance. Rodney, however, deliberately ignored it.

"Major. Elizabeth." His attempt at a casual greeting fell short.

Sheppard spoke again. "Hallucinating dogs?"

"What?"

"You mentioned hallucinating and dogs. Just wondered if you were hallucinating dogs."

McKay stuttered a laugh. "Oh please, what kind of person hallucinates dogs?"

"You tell us, you're the one hallucinating them."

McKay answered bluntly, as if trying to convince himself. "It wasn't a hallucination. It was a dream. Just a…a weird dream."

An improbable theory flashed into Elizabeth's mind but she was more willing to reveal _it_ than face the idea that she may be going crazy.

"Is the dog dead?"

McKay looked horrified. "What?"

Elizabeth softened the question. "You dreamt of a dog, right? Is it one that meant a lot to you but has since…passed?"

"Yes." He stared at her with a puzzled expression but when she spoke again, she addressed Sheppard.

"You too? Someone close to you?"

The major seemed reluctant to answer. He let slip a hard wince and nodded. Elizabeth looked at the two men. "I just saw my great aunt Mattie in my office. She died in 1993."

McKay looked relieved. "I've got you beat…my grandfather, a goldfish, and my first cat and dog are in my lab." He grabbed up the belt of his robe, noticing for the first time that his friends could see his t-shirt, and wrapped the robe around himself. "Damn, Butch is going to eat them alive."

"The dog?" Weir asked.

"No, Butch is the cat!" He took a tentative step toward the main building but stopped and glanced back at his friends. "Right…so, this is where we're supposed to go try to talk to them? The human contingent, anyway. Butch always did talk a lot but it was mostly this squeaky kind of yappy meowing…"

He realized he was rambling nervously and clamped his mouth shut.

Elizabeth briefly looked up at the night sky. She was going to start her day very early. "Well, I'm going to see if my guest is still here. Care to join me?"

---

2

Weir hesitated outside her darkened office. She held many fond memories of her father's aunt. Great Aunt Mattie had shown her that being a woman wasn't a limitation, but a strength. Mattie had attended Yale Law, at a time when most women's careers were limited to wife and mother. When she was unable to get the Associate position she wanted, Mattie pushed a small firm to hire her and it grew to one of the largest in the San Francisco area.

She never married. She used to say it was because she wanted to have time to dote on the great-nieces of her family. Rumors amongst the older relatives, however, reported that the scandalous free-spirit flitted between a collection of younger men. Elizabeth was never one for family rumors about Mattie--she knew the stories were completely true. There was very little her aunt didn't share with her. Without Great Aunt Mattie, Elizabeth doubted she would be the woman she was today.

Sheppard sensed her hesitation to walk into the room. "You want me to go in first?"

Elizabeth didn't acknowledge him. She strode across the threshold of the office and, as the lights popped on, stared at the figure still sitting casually on her desk.

"Hi-ya Trixie."

"Hello again." Elizabeth's negotiating skills abandoned her. She'd dealt with many strange situations in her time, especially recently, but talking to the dead had never been one of them. "I'm Elizabeth Weir."

"Yes, I know." Aunt Mattie shifted slightly, uncrossing her legs.

"In my world, you've already died."

"In your _world_, yes, but in your life I'm still very much alive."

Sheppard spoke in a half-whisper behind Elizabeth. "I'm seeing lips moving but I'm not hearing anything."

Weir started slightly at the sound of his voice. She'd been completely engrossed in studying this woman who was identical to her aunt.

Mattie shook her head. "He can't hear me, love. I am here for you; his are here for him. We mean you no harm." She gestured with an elegant hand to a chair in the office – the guest chair.

Elizabeth smiled, it was just like her aunt to claim the command position in a room. "She said they don't mean us any harm."

Sheppard sighed sharply and crossed his arms, making his doubt clearly apparent. "Can you ask Spooky Spirit Lady why they're here?"

"We are here to understand you better. We are explorers." replied Mattie. She gestured Elizabeth once more toward the chair but offered a wink this time. That wink always meant Aunt Mattie was going to share something with Trixie that she didn't want her other nieces to know.

"They're here to understand us." Elizabeth smiled and continued to stare at the woman seated on her desk.

Aunt Mattie spoke again. "We've been with you for two nights."

"What race are you?" asked Elizabeth. "What do you call yourselves?"

"We are the Ngaut-Ngaut. We take these forms and we are ours and we are yours." She laid a hand first against her own heart and then outstretched her arm to lightly touch Elizabeth's chest. A sparkle lit her eye and she smiled before tapping a slim finger to the forehead of her 'niece'. "We know what we know from you."

Elizabeth addressed the man behind her. "It's alright, Major. I think we'll be just fine. I suspect they could already have caused us harm if that was their intent." She finally turned to look at Sheppard and McKay. "We'll meet in the briefing room in an hour, and I think Dr. Heightmeyer should join us. But if anyone reports any cause for alarm, I'm to be notified immediately."

The two men accepted the gentle dismissal and Elizabeth lowered herself into the guest chair as they turned to leave. Moving into the hallway, Sheppard shook his head, mumbling quietly.

"This is a very bad idea."


	2. Chapter 2

3

Dr. Kate Heightmeyer rested her elbows on the conference table and looked at the five people seated with her. "Not everyone has been 'affected,' for lack of a better term. It's interesting, but from what I've been able to gather, it seems the only people approached are those who could benefit from closure concerning the death of a loved one."

She gestured toward Elizabeth. "For example, Dr. Weir was very close to her great-aunt; however, her aunt passed away shortly after suffering a stroke and before Elizabeth could get back to the States to see her. None of the Athosians have been visited and I believe it has to do with their cultural beliefs. They've all had family and friends lost to Wraith cullings, but their views toward death and the cycle of life and death are much more open and accepting than, shall we say, Western beliefs."

Sergeant Bates leaned back in his chair and offered a simplified interpretation. "They don't play the 'what if..' game."

"Precisely."

Elizabeth presented one of her observations. "In the forms the Ngaut-Ngaut have taken on, they aren't so much _themselves_, whoever or whatever that may be, as they are the person they're manifesting."

Kate nodded. "For the most part, they seem to be taking an unobtrusive approach – staying in the background unless they're engaged in conversation."

Dr. Carson Beckett mumbled a response. "I should be so lucky."

Bates looked at him. "Still hiding from them?"

"Go ahead and laugh, son, you cannae hear those bloody 'pipes." He glanced across the table at Sheppard and McKay. "And don't either one of you look at me like that. I know for a fact both of you have been skulkin' about."

Sheppard did his best to appear offended. "Skulking!"

"Aye. Skulkin'."

"We have not been skulking. We've been busy…very busy with…."

"Things," interjected McKay.

Sheppard nodded fervently. "Yes. Things…and…" he struggled for a viable answer, "…other things."

McKay mimicked the nod. "Exactly."

Elizabeth spoke up like a mother gently silencing her children. "Gentlemen."

Aunt Mattie used to say you accomplished as much when dealing with men as you would if you were herding cats. "Carson, how are things on your side?"

The Scot shrugged in a resigned fashion. "Well, as I mentioned, I do wish they hadnae brought the 'pipes, but I have to say…" he stopped abruptly when he noticed the looks he was receiving from his companions. "Oh, you meant…."

He tried to ignore the warmth of a blush that waved up his face as he started again. "Well, from the physiological side there've been no complaints from anybody so far. I cannot say _how_ the Ngaut-Ngaut are doin' what they're doin', but they don't seem to be causin' any harm."

Sheppard folded his arms against his chest and glanced at his security officer. "All the same, Bates, let's make sure all personnel know to keep their 'visitors' out of secure areas and conversation is to be kept to a strictly personal level."

It didn't take someone with Dr. Heightmeyer's education to recognize the meaning behind the major's body language and tone. John Sheppard wasn't feeling like he was being visited—he was feeling haunted.

---

4

Disconcerting. Rodney could not find any other word for the situation. Yet, its definition seemed too tame. There needed to be a more emotive expression when one walked through the halls of Atlantis watching people talk to their long lost relatives or friends, yet not being privy to the other side of the conversation.

He felt a sense of invasion of privacy. As if certain members of the Atlantis expedition were being exposed. In the words of his teammate Aiden Ford, it was a TMI situation—Too Much Information. It was those same feelings of exposure that caused Rodney to herd his grandfather and his childhood menagerie, from the lab they'd initially appeared in, to his living quarters. He'd yet to say more than five things to the elderly man.

Some people had taken McKay's approach and hid their visitors. Others continued on with the duties they needed to perform in Atlantis—quietly going about their business with their respective dead following behind.

During the briefing, Rodney momentarily entertained the idea of asking Dr. Heightmeyer what the correct response should be – ignore or acknowledge. But his pride—and paranoia—didn't like the idea of having to consult a shrink about anything.

'_God only knows how those people minutely analyze anything and everything you say. Then before you know it, it's typed up and put into a folder to be used against you later.'_

He'd gone with the ignore approach. In the meeting, Kate said there were two ways people would mostly likely react. One was to embrace the time they had with their 'loved ones'. Under this scenario, it was likely the person wouldn't want any intrusion into their privacy, nothing to steal away the precious time. The second reaction that could be expected was distance.

Rodney noted his colleague Radek Zelenka was clearly in the first category. He'd spotted the Czech national making his way slowly down one long hallway close to their lab. The fingers of his right hand wrapped tightly around the up-stretched left hand of a young boy, no more than seven or eight years old. Without realizing it, both of them pushed long, unruly bangs out of their eyes nearly at the same moment.

Zelenka was oblivious to everything else around him. Rodney could only hear Radek's soft voice, but the pair's amusement was apparent. The two of them were laughing infectiously, despite the obvious red-rimmed eyes of Zelenka. The bespectacled scientist rattled off something in his native tongue and Rodney watched the little boy's mouth form similar vowels and consonant patterns. The companions broke down once more with laughter and Rodney felt as if his mere presence in the corridor was a rude intrusion into the bittersweet reunion.

He was thankful when a prime example of the second expected reaction burst around the corner, and offered him a distraction. Dr. Kavanagh strode deliberately away from a tall, severe-looking woman who looked to be in her 50's. She had harsh, angular facial features and was thin enough to border on bony. Tailored in an expensive looking skirt and matching suit jacket, she left Rodney wondering if she'd lived by the motto 'you can never be too rich or too thin.'

Shoulder-length, dark brown hair was sprayed into a perfect, protective helmet that bobbed aggressively as she followed closely on the scientist's heels. Rodney couldn't help but notice the white streak that lined its way just left of her center hair part.

'_My God, Kavanagh's related to Cruella De Vil.'_

"Shut up!...I'm not listening!" Kavanagh walked faster and shouted at the woman without turning around. "It took seven years of therapy to get you out of my head…!"

Rodney wondered if a white streak would also eventually appear in Kavanagh's hair, making him look more like the skunk that he was. McKay just shook his head, watching his colleague childishly clamp his hands over his ears and produce an equally juvenile litany of denial as he disappeared around the corner.

"Na-na-na-na-na, I cannot hear you, na-na-na-na-na!"


	3. Chapter 3

---

5

Rodney entered the infirmary as he frequently did, with concern that bordered on mild paranoia. Rarely could he push from his brain the image of a stray airborne alien germ finding its way on to his skin, leading to a lengthy, painful deterioration of physical and mental functions, and culminating in a horrifying death, all from a skin rash.

He was not, however, prepared for what he saw on this occasion. Eleven hearty-looking men, in traditional Scottish attire and clutching bagpipes, hovered around a closed office door.

Rodney caught a medical technician's eye and the woman correctly interpreted the reason for his presence. She pointed toward the office.

"It's okay?" Rodney queried.

"As long as you're not wearing a plaid skirt and carrying an ugly musical instrument – you're allowed."

Rodney apprehensively nudged his way through the silent mass of bearded redheads. "Um…hello. Yes, 'scuse me. I just need to, um…"

He opened the door just enough to slide into the room, before closing it securely behind him. There was no sign of anyone in the small space.

"Carson?"

"I'm hidin'." The voice came from behind a tall sculpture of books. Carson rolled his chair from behind the medical volumes. "Thanks to Heaven, they're finally quiet. They want me to join their group."

Rodney stared at him blankly.

"And play the 'pipes," explained Carson, emphatically.

"It's, uh, quite the group."

"You've no idea. My father and eleven uncles."

Rodney nodded and made half an effort to look as if he understood. "Ah."

Carson sighed and stared up at McKay with wide eyes and a befuddled expression. "You'd think they'd remember how bloody awful I was with the thing. An utter idjit. All I ever managed to do with 'pipes was call ganders."

Once again, he was met with a blank stare.

"_Male geese_. They teased me about it all the time…my family, I mean, not the geese. _They_ probably thought _I_ was the tease, if ya know what I mean. Though they did utilize me quite a bit 'round the holidays. My family, that is. I must say, there's nothin' like roast goose at Christmas time."

Rodney cut him off. "Great, wonderful that your family reunion is going so well…What did the physical exams show?"

"Oh, I just sent the results to Dr. Weir." Carson rolled himself over to his desk and tapped the spacebar of his laptop to activate the screen so Rodney could see for himself. "For all intents and purposes, they're human - warts and all."

"Warts?" McKay scanned the computer document for names of infectious diseases. "They have some sort of virus?"

Carson rolled his eyes. "No. What I mean is…for example, Uncle Dugald is exactly like I remember him – eighty-two years old with a cataract in his left eye and Type 2 diabetes."

"Well, that's not much good to us." Rodney's vision drifted back to the computer screen. "You'd think the least they could do is come back cured. With information on how to do it."

Carson shrugged and nodded in casual agreement.

Rodney finally got to the real reason for his visit. "I heard Major Sheppard is here?"

Carson shook his head. "Was here earlier, left a wee bit ago." He rolled himself back behind his wall of books and mumbled, "He may have had the right idea."

"Right, thanks."

Rodney squeezed his way back out the door and through the elderly Scottish contingent.

He made his way to Sheppard's private quarters, only half-expecting to find him there. He knocked lightly.

"Major?"

Several seconds passed and he knocked again, louder. "Major Sheppard?"

Rodney couldn't help but wonder who, or what, was on the other side of the closed door. What visitors did John Sheppard have? It's not like there would be any harm in just _seeing_. He certainly wouldn't be able to hear what anyone was saying even if they did talk to him. He moved his hand toward the door just as a voice came from a few feet behind him.

"Help you with something?"

Rodney jerked back in surprise and he looked down the hall to see Major Sheppard approaching. Atlantis's senior military officer looked haggard and serious.

McKay stuttered a feeble cover. "Oh! I…I thought I heard..." he pointed toward the closed door, then to Sheppard. "But, you're, uh…here."

"Yeah."

"Well, I just mean…after the meeting this morning I didn't think…" McKay trailed off in response to the flat expression he received. "I was actually looking for you because I was thinking about what we were talking about the other day—using the city's satellite control segments even though we don't have satellites anymore. Your idea about trying to redirect the RSTA systems for reconnaissance and surveillance to provide a deep space defensive monitoring web was, while rather crude and simplistic, more valid than we originally thought…"

McKay stopped himself. Sheppard's countenance hadn't changed. All he'd done is stare at the scientist and blink several times.

Rodney spoke again. "Ya know, we can talk about this later if you-"

"Yeah. Let's do that."

McKay became aware of the fact that he was standing directly in front of the door, blocking the major's path. "Oh, you probably want to…"

He stepped back but Sheppard didn't make a move to open the door. There was a weary look in the brown eyes that met Rodney's blue ones. A question sprang into McKay's mind and slipped out of his mouth before he could stop it.

"Are you all right?"

Sheppard was clearly reluctant to maintain eye contact and replied quietly as he opened the door. "I've had better days."

He seemed unwilling to close himself in the room and left the door ajar while he slipped in and grabbed a small carry-all bag and the staffs he used when practicing hand-to-hand maneuvers with Teyla.

Rodney's curiosity got the better of him and he brazenly looked into the room as the soldier entered. The space seemed filled with people, various ages and races, sitting on all the available furniture. Sheppard suddenly appeared in his view.

"McKay?"

Rodney was amazed at the small crowd in the room. He rose up on his toes to see over the major's shoulder. "There must be twenty people in there."

"I know a lot of dead people," Sheppard replied, tersely. He moved into the hall and Rodney caught a glimpse of a young slim woman with long dark hair and familiar brown eyes.

"Wow, she's hot."

Sheppard didn't reply to the comment but directed a sharp question at the scientist. "You _really_ don't have anything else you could be doing right now?"

Rodney threw his hands up in frustration. "Why aren't you spending time with them?"

"What!"

"Dr Heightmeyer said it this morning, from a psychological standpoint this is a prime opportunity for closure. You're not exactly dealing with it."

"Oh please, I don't see _you_ having a picnic with, who was it again…grandpa, dog, cat, and goldfish? Don't talk to me about 'dealing with it'." He shut the door, distancing himself from the room. "_This_ is how I'm dealing with it."

McKay looked from Sheppard to the door and back again. "That's healthy."

Sheppard raked his fingers through his hair and his hand unconsciously fell to rest on the butt of his 9mm. "Better than the last time."

"Ah. Well, yes…."

The major's reply reminded Rodney of what Sheppard experienced some months back when they'd believed they'd made it back to Earth. The memory of shooting a previously dead friend could not be a pleasant one.

"Now if there isn't anything else…" Sheppard sounded as drained as he looked.

"Oh, um…no."

As Sheppard stepped away, McKay looked once more at the closed door. "You're lucky, you know."

The major stopped but didn't turn around. He cocked his head slightly toward the man behind him and breathed a sharp laugh. "Rodney, I don't know who the hell taught you the definition of lucky but--"

McKay sighed loudly. "No, don't be dense…lucky you had all those people in your life." He didn't wait for a reply; turning abruptly he made his way towards the opposite end of the hallway.

---

6

Rodney arrived at the door to his quarters and hesitated just as he'd done the last five times he'd stopped there. His pause was longer this time as he stood in the hall, arguing with himself.

'_This is asinine. You've stood up against creatures that could single-handedly wipe out entire races, and you're afraid of your grandfather?'_

' _It's not my grandfather.'_

'_Fine, a stereotactic optical/auditory electromagnetic representation of the man who taught you how to skip rocks.'_

'_God, I haven't tried to skip a rock in years.'_

'_That's because you're lousy at it. You never were able to skip rocks.'_

'_Shut up.'_

Rodney abruptly silenced the voice in his head by taking a deep breath and entering the room. He addressed the 'man' there.

"You're still here."

"You finally came in."

His grandfather had answered without looking up. He was hunched over Rodney's desk, deeply engrossed in dissecting the scientist's wind-up alarm clock. A large, fluffy, gray cat was curled up on his lap, asleep. It was Butch, all right. Right down to the ragged ears, split from night fights, and the single fang that peeked out from beneath his upper lip.

'_That is not your cat. This is not your grandfather. For all you know he could be restructuring that clock into a well-disguised nuclear reactor.'_

The Ngaut-Ngaut may have said they were friendly, and Elizabeth and the others may believe them; Rodney, however, was leery. These 'people' said their true form was energy, yet they were incapable of manipulating it for interstellar travel. For this exploratory expedition, they'd utilized the meteor shower. From Atlantis they would continue their travels via the 'gate.

Rodney shifted his focus to the chubby, white Bull Terrier who'd been pressed up against him from the moment he'd entered the room. Rodney had tried to ignore it, unwilling to acknowledge the well-remembered devotion in this dog that he'd owned as a youth. It seemed genuinely delighted to see him. He couldn't comprehend how that could be.

He pushed aside a worn, faded red collar and scratched the nape of the dog's neck. The motion made no sound, no jangling of metal against metal to signify the presence of a license or tags. His father had refused to lay out any 'unnecessary' money.

Ever since the dog disappeared, all those years ago, Rodney had harbored a suspicion that it was due to feelings of bitterness on behalf of the animal. The dog must have been convinced he didn't love it enough to provide even a rudimentary display of caring about what happened to it.

Yet the little, stubby tail now wiggling at the opposite end of the dog didn't appear to convey those sorts of feelings at all. Rodney smiled in spite of himself and glanced again at the figure seated at his desk.

The 'man' before him looked exactly like his grandfather. Rodney's mind drifted and he recalled the many times after school when he walked quickly to his grandparents' Tudor-style home. By that time, his grandfather had long-since retired from the postal service and he spent his days tinkering. His basement workshop was scattered with odds and ends. Any combination of which was undoubtedly destined to become the next great invention.

Rodney would sit with his grandfather, offering suggestions on how to get the latest project to function; and accepting advice on how to survive in school when you had few friends and an IQ higher than most of your teachers. And when it was time for Rodney to head home, his grandfather would occasionally relate to him the story of the Mountie and the squirrel.

"The squirrel always made it to the sugar shack first."

Rodney was snapped back to the present at the sound of his grandfather's voice. He shook his head and dropped down onto his bed. From his night stand, he pulled a small bag of jerky and slipped a few pieces to the dog, while continuing to pet it. "That story never did make any sense."

Grandfather McKay chuckled. "It was supposed to keep you humble. You would come from school upset that the teacher had said something incorrect, but wouldn't listen to you…"

Rodney's head shot up and he asked in a worried tone, "Wait, can you read my mind?"

He tried to clear his thoughts, think only of simple things—the color blue, the number 128, noncommutative chiral gauge theories on the lattice with manifest star-gauge invariance—but he found them all too basic.

His grandfather sat upright, pushed the clock away, and smiled. "You aren't going to give this up, are you? Ask your questions."

Rodney slipped into a familiar dialogue as the Bull Terrier at his feet oozed its way up onto his lap. "I've been giving this some thought. Why these forms? Why not come as you are? If you're able to pull memories from our consciousness, aren't you able to import your own impressions? Electromagnetic telepathy? Oh! And about nine months ago we met a…group of beings that I believe are very similar to you, pure energy. Do you have a 'homeworld'? Are you completely dependant on piggybacking for interplanetary travel? How old is your race?"

The questions poured from him like stream-of-consciousness realizations. He pointed to the goldfish swimming lazily in a large round bowl on one corner of his desk.

"Why a fish?" A slight, sarcastic laugh escaped. "Don't tell me someone actually _chose_ to be my fish. You have to admit, that's pretty pathetic. I mean, you guys get stuck with an eccentric Canadian grandfather, a mangy cat, a dog who never wanted to be with me in the first place and a goldfish. You got the short end of the stick, lemme tell you. You should have hooked up with Dr. Beckett or Major Sheppard; _they_ have people. I didn't even warrant a visit from--"

He caught himself and stopped abruptly.

Grandfather McKay prompted him gently. "From who?"

Rodney lifted the Bull Terrier off his lap and stood. "Ya know, this is absurd. I don't know who or what you are but you aren't--"

"Your parents?"

Rodney stared at the man seated with the large gray cat on his lap. "What?"

His grandfather pulled the disassembled alarm clock towards himself and began tinkering again. "You were going to say that you didn't even warrant a visit from your mother and father, no?"

The dog on Rodney's bed whined and stretched out a paw towards him. The scientist dropped back down onto the mattress and the Bull Terrier quickly snuggled up again to receive more attention.

"Well, there is that." Rodney stared at the guts of the clock. "What are you doing?"

"It was running slow."

"I know. It's on my list of things to fix."

"Now you'll have time for more important things." His grandfather glanced up and smiled mischievously.

Rodney rolled his eyes. "Yes, yes, I got it. It won't be slow anymore. _Time_ for more important things."

Grandfather McKay focused once again on the clock. "Let's see….We decided to take these forms so you would be more accessible to us. And us to you. We're interested in learning and exploring. Can't very well do that if we scare the wits and wickets out of everybody, eh? And yes, we are able to transfer our memories as well."

"Of course," interrupted Rodney, "you're energy, and since the brain is based on electromagnetic impulses it would be a viable theory that memories could be transferred just like audio or video images are."

The older man seemed quite used to the scattered focus of the scientist. He merely continued with his explanations. "We have a world that is our home, but it's been a long shin and a month since we've seen it."

Rodney smiled at the expression that he hadn't heard in several years.

"We left it to explore, but this traveling between planets didn't go as smoothly as we'd hoped. We may be energy, but we're not a lot of it. And let me tell you, it takes a lot to break through atmosphere, eh." He looked at Rodney with a sincere expression. "You say you met another group, like us? I think we'd like to hear about that."

He abruptly switched back to his list of answers.

"In the case of your friends, it took more people to define them." He paused, and attempted to explain. "To create the men they have become."

Rodney shook his head. "I'm a brilliant astrophysicist because of an ex-postal worker, a dog, a cat, and a fish?"

The elderly spirit lay down the small screwdriver he held and settled his glasses more securely up on the bridge of his nose. "Your memories of your parents are clouded…."

McKay leaned back on his bed and breathed a laugh. "Yeah, well, who doesn't have parental issues?"

"You are very much like both your mother and father. You have a great capacity for compassion and caring, Roddy, the problem is you only show it when no one is around. You cleaned that fish's bowl every other day whether it needed it or not."

Rodney didn't look up, but only focused more intently on the dog lying happily with its head on his lap. "That's not caring, that's a minor obsessive/compulsive disorder."

"You put up at least 50 signs and searched the streets for weeks when that dog disappeared."

"Yeah…well…."

"And you'd have to have a pretty soft spot to take in a cat like this." He ran a hand down the feline's back. It squeaked a bit, but remained asleep. "Unconditional love, my boy."

McKay shifted uncomfortably.

"Strong memories, good or bad, are what shape us and our behaviors. The times you spent in that dusty basement of mine are still very vivid."

He tapped his own chest with one finger. "Someone recognized long ago that you're smart, if not a bit neurotic, and that you can rise to be an incredibly great man, Roddy." Grandfather McKay nodded with pride. "Because of me you went on to become a scientist. Quite a motivating force for you, eh?"

Rodney was still hesitant to look up, but he smiled and nodded. His grandfather spoke again.

"Look at me, getting misty eyed. Haven't done this since '02 when those damn Norwegians stole our boys' Gold in Salt Lake City. Martin has some kind of curse on him, I tell you. Aw, the Devil in a ditch, what the hell do Norwegians know about curling, anyway?"

Rodney grinned, how many times had he listened to his grandfather hurl odd curses at the television during games? It was not easy to see the individual before him as a being from another galaxy. "How long can you stay? You must have an enormous amount of knowledge you can share with us."

"We can't stay long, I'm afraid. It's draining for us to take these forms. Maybe several more hours. The last time we were here was over ten thousand years ago. It's not always—"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, ten thous…That means you would have been here when…There were people here at that time, right? Did you interact with them also? Do you—"

He winked at Rodney. "No more questions. After all…we're Canadians." He picked up the small screwdriver, refitted the clock's round, metal backing plate and searched for one of the tiny screws he'd situated at one corner of the desk.

The scientist threw his hands in the air. "Ya know, you always said that; what does that mean, exactly?"

"No, idea. It was what your grandmother would say to me after she thought I had done something wrong. 'I don't know why I should be surprised,' she would say, 'you're Canadian.' She was from Detroit, originally. You'd think she would have thanked me for taking her away from that place." He dropped a screw into a slot and tightened it down.

---

7

Teyla's short staff struck John's unprotected midsection and drove the air from his lungs. The heel of her left foot caught him behind the right knee and he collapsed onto the floor, breathing heavily.

"Shit!" The major slapped an open palm hard against the mat.

Teyla offered a hand of assistance but was not surprised when her friend didn't acknowledge it. She brought herself down to his level, kneeling on the mat with her legs tucked underneath her.

"Your mind is not here," she stated.

Sheppard remained hunched over, his forehead resting on the floor, and breathed a harsh laugh. "Now what gave you that impression? Don't you usually kick my butt?"

"Yes," she replied with a slight grin, "but not usually so easily, so many times in a row."

Sheppard rolled his head just enough to shoot her a dirty look. Teyla gently pulled his staff from his grip and John pushed himself up into a sitting position that matched hers.

"You are here because you do not wish to face those who visit you?" It was more of a statement than a question. She shook her head and showed a bittersweet smile. "I would feel delighted and blessed if those who had gone on before me came back to visit."

"Yeah, well, I suspect you were on better speaking terms with anybody who might be coming back to visit you. And anyway, they aren't really them, they're…imposters, aliens."

"I have seen some of your people interacting with their own visitors. It seems to be beneficial for them."

"What can I say? Rodney called it—I'm not 'dealing with it'." He rose and crossed to pull a towel from his bag. He rubbed it roughly down his face, as if there was more than just sweat that he wished to wipe away.

Teyla stood and began gathering up her own equipment. "Your people are very advanced; I have learned much from them. Yet the one thing I do not comprehend is your fear of death and your unwillingness to accept it. It is part of the cycle of being, just as birth. You do not mourn the coming of the cold season."

"Hell, no," interrupted Sheppard, "that's the start of 'boarding season. You can't compare winter and death. Death does not have a half-pipe."

Teyla looked at him quizzically but he waved her off. "Nevermind. Look, I appreciate what you're saying, but you don't understand. Those…people in there," he motioned in the vague direction of where his quarters were, "there wasn't any of that closure stuff. I can't face them, even if they aren't the real thing. There're a lot of things that I never got to explain or say."

Teyla hitched her bag up onto her shoulder and, in a matter-of-fact tone, she asked, "Then why do you not say it now?"

She tossed Sheppard his staff and walked from the room, leaving the major to contemplate the simplicity of her suggestion.


	4. Chapter 4

---

---

Sheppard cautiously opened the door to his room. Everyone was just as they were before. He stepped in, closed the door and leaned heavily against it. There were some dressed casually, some formally, some in uniform. He scanned the too-familiar faces, took a breath and addressed his visitors.

"Hey everybody…long time no see." Then mumbled under his breath, "Johnny Cash passed, I couldn't have been visited by him?"

His eyes rested on the fresh-faced brunette that Rodney spotted earlier. Her cupid's bow lips spread to reveal a sincere grin.

John's chest tightened but he couldn't hold back his own smile. "Ya know…I sure have missed you."

---

Rodney stood with his 'grandfather' at the control station of the gate room. The older man clutched the fishbowl under one arm, while Rodney balanced the large, now-purring gray cat over one shoulder. The Bull Terrier leaned heavily against his leg.

McKay stared out at the various scenes playing out on the floor below. He got the sense that most of the visitors represented family members. For a moment, he felt jealous of their connections. He was quite glad his sister wasn't dead, but it would have been nice to see her.

Only recently did he begin to appreciate the benefits and comforts of having family. He recalled a quote that a fellow post doc student had once put up in the office they'd shared. "The bond that links your true family is not one of blood, but of respect and joy in each other's life. Rarely do members of one family grow up under the same roof."

He glanced at Carson, crying openly at whatever bagpipe ballad was being played by the beefy, red-faced Scots. Rodney wondered how the players were able to utilize their lung capacity efficiently when they too seemed to be blubbering just as much.

Zelenka was crouched with his back against the wall, speaking intimately with the boy in front of him. The child reached into the back pocket of his corduroys and pulled out a folded piece of paper. Zelenka carefully unfolded it and stared at the colored-pen drawing of a man and a boy holding hands on a balcony, surrounded by water. The scientist wrapped his arms around the boy and pulled him into a long, tight hug.

Elizabeth's fresh laughter drifted from her office as she and Great Aunt Mattie cleared away the final hand of a game of Seven Card Draw. Rodney swore he saw the older woman slip a half-full bottle of whisky into the bottom drawer of Elizabeth's desk while flashing a wink at the commander of Atlantis.

Ford and Teyla stood on the steps of the gate room talking quietly and overseeing everything in a protective manner.

Sheppard's party drifted in last and Rodney was surprised at the relief he felt when he spotted the major quite happily bringing up the rear and snickering at some private joke he shared with a tall black soldier in desert camouflage fatigues.

McKay realized at that moment that these people had become _his_ family. He'd done things with them and for them that he never, in his most expansive theories, thought he would do. He'd risked his life, willingly, and on more than one occasion, while barely giving it a second thought.

If only Dr. Carter could see him now, she would _so_ be all over him.

"Rodney?" Elizabeth's voice broke the scientist from his reverie. "You're sure about this?"

She stood beside him now, with Aunt Mattie close behind. Rodney was a little taken aback when Mattie glanced at his grandfather and gave him a wink.

"Of course I am. Okay, um, everyone who pointed out that the energy readings on M5S-224 were _life signs _raise your hand." McKay let his hand shoot up in the air and glanced around quickly before lowering it and continuing with an explanation.

"Good. Now then, from what..." he paused briefly, not sure how he should address the man beside him, "my grandfather has said, all we have to do is dial M5-, uh, what was the name you used?"

"Ngarrindjeri," answered his grandfather.

"Right….um, dial M5S-224 and immediately shut the 'gate down again. They're pure energy; they'll barely require a nanosecond to lock on to the coordinates of their planet. They won't need the wormhole because they're going to _be_ the wormhole, just as they'll be the event horizon on the other side. Look, it's an astrophysics thing, you wouldn't understand."

Weir seemed to be having a difficult time focusing on the scientist. "You're positive there's no chance of any beings on the planet losing their lives?"

"Elizabeth, trust me. I explained to him what happened when we visited, _and_ the promise you made to the beings there regarding us using the 'gate. Besides, I don't think all these…people would be going through with this if there was a chance of any of their kind dying because of it."

Rodney's grandfather stepped forward, took up Elizabeth's hand and gracefully kissed the back of it. McKay rolled his eyes and watched in disgust as Weir laughed and blushed. He used the arm not occupied by the cat to steer his grandfather toward the 'gate.

"Time for you to be going, isn't it?"

At the bottom of the steps his grandfather spotted Kavanagh giving Cruella the silent treatment. She was obviously continuing to speak to him, while attempting to wipe off some unnoticeable spot on his cheek with a handkerchief that she moistened by dabbing on her tongue.

"Wow, she's a looker."

"You can't be serious. If she's anything like Kavanagh…well, just stay away from her. Try that one, I think she likes you anyway." Rodney pointed at Aunt Mattie who was now a few feet away from them, giggling with Elizabeth.

Rodney gave the cat one last scratch on the head and let it nuzzle his forehead before passing it off to his grandfather. As soon as the feline left Rodney's arms, it stopped purring. The scientist then bent down and looked into the large dark eyes of the Bull Terrier.

"You never cared about not having tags at all, did you?" he whispered. The dog answered with several quick, broad licks across Rodney's chin. He stood and was about to give his grandfather a hug when he realized the man's arms were filled with two-thirds of Rodney's childhood menagerie. He settled for giving the elderly spirit's arm a tight squeeze.

"Um…look, I know you didn't really come here for us. And you aren't really a Canadian ex-postal worker but, well…take care of yourself."

"You too." The older 'man' leaned in and whispered furtively, "You were always a good boy, Roddy. Look after these people. You can learn just as much from them as they can from you."

McKay walked up the steps to stand next to Elizabeth. Aunt Mattie leaned in close to her great-niece and said something. Rodney couldn't help but notice the older woman shoot a glance toward Sheppard before Elizabeth blushed and the two of them rolled into another fit of giggling.

McKay figured he probably wouldn't tell the major that the ladies were making fun of him.

Mattie stepped lightly down the stairs to join the rest of the visitors as the two large groups began to distance themselves from one another. She looked at her niece, nodded again towards Sheppard and winked, and Elizabeth nearly snorted while trying to hold back her laughter.

Rodney took a close look at the highly qualified and consummately professional career diplomat beside him. The sleepy eyes and rosy cheeks raised his suspicions. He leaned towards her and sniffed. "You've been drinking," he stated, in a shocked tone.

Elizabeth let a mischievous smile spread across her face. "And playing poker and telling dirty jokes, too."

Carson shuffled up the stairs, tears dampening his face. His relatives were obviously still playing and crying, as well. Elizabeth was a couple of steps above him but she rested her hand against his back in a comforting show of support.

McKay shook his head. "To think they come from the same island as William Wallace." He nodded down toward Carson. "I'm just thankful he's the only one who can hear that music. Well, if you really consider the sound of bagpipes to be music."

Elizabeth shot him a reproachful look.

"Whaat? Hello? _McKay_. I'm Scottish too. I'm allowed to make fun of bagpipes."

Carson seemed not to have heard any of it. He wiped the cuff of his sleeve across his eyes. "I'd forgotten how beautiful i'tis."

McKay's attention shifted to where Sheppard stood. The majority of his group had already stepped away from him and he wasn't acknowledging any of the Atlantis personnel. He'd set his face with an emotionless expression and his arms were crossed tight against his chest.

The only person with him was the pretty young woman with the long brown hair. She held her hand to his cheek and Sheppard placed his hand over it. McKay studied them. He could only guess what was being said, perhaps she was saying that she loved him, or was proud of him. And perhaps his reply was how much he missed her, and that he always thought about her and the rest of them.

She suddenly showed a broad smile, pulled her hand quickly away. The action forced a grin onto John's face.

Before they parted the woman held out her fist as if giving the 'thumbs up' sign, but her fingers didn't quite close enough to make a fist. John matched the motion, interlocking his fingers with hers. Their thumbs bobbed up and down slowly, alternating sides, one-two-three, before their demeanors changed and a fierce thumb wrestling match ensued.

The young woman may not have possessed digits as strong as the major's but they were definitely more agile. John nearly had her thumb pinned when she swooped it out of the way and locked his down tightly.

McKay read her lips as she gloated. _'I always could beat you.'_

Sheppard dropped her hand and shoved her gently on the shoulder, pushing her towards the rest of his visitors. A voice came over the intercom.

"Preparing to engage Chevron One."

Sections of the 'gate lit up sequentially as Sheppard moved backwards up the steps, one by one till he reached the spot where Elizabeth, Rodney and Carson stood. His eyes never shifted from one particular figure amongst the sea of people on the 'gate room floor.

She smiled once more at him just as the 'gate glowed with a connection. A split second later the huge ring powered down and only Atlantis personnel remained. They returned to their duties at different paces. Some eager to get back to their current lives, others reluctant to turn their backs on the place where their loved ones just stood.

McKay glanced at Sheppard, who stood one step down from him. "I don't see how you could have even _considered_ ignoring her. She was hot."

"McKay! That's my--" he stopped himself and chose a different tactic. "Ya know, where I come from that's called necrophilia."

Elizabeth didn't try to rein in her laugh.

Rodney looked horrified and was utterly relived when a technician called for Elizabeth's attention, thus shifting focus away from him.

"Dr. Weir? Excuse me, ma'am, do you have time to take a look at this?"

Elizabeth followed the tech, leaving the three men staring at the empty floor. Sheppard sighed quietly. "God, what I'd give for a drink right now."

Carson and Rodney nodded in agreement. McKay smiled, glancing at Weir's currently unoccupied office. "Exactly what _would_ you be willing to give for a drink right now?"

The other two men stared at him quizzically. He turned and headed up the steps toward the office. "Follow me, gentlemen."

Sheppard tossed his arm over Carson's shoulder and guided the mostly dry-eyed Scot up the stairs. They nearly bumped into Rodney as he stopped abruptly. His peripheral vision caught a figure still crouched against the wall of the 'gate room.

"Wait a second." He called in a gentle tone. "Zelenka?" The Czech seemed not to hear, so Rodney tried again a little louder. "Radek?"

A pair of bright blue eyes rose to look in the direction of the voice. McKay indicated with a nod of his head for the other scientist to join them. Zelenka seemed unsure, but Rodney knew the one thing that would help all of them right now was being with family. Well, that and the whisky.

"That wall will still be there later if you want to go back to it. Now c'mon."

Zelenka allowed himself a hint of a smile and pushed himself up from the floor. The three other men waited for him to reach them before continuing up the stairs.

"So, Major," began McKay, "I don't think you ever said exactly what you'd be willing to pay for a drink.…"

-fin-


End file.
